Category: Holding onto the Past
-
The Night They Pulled The Plug in Louisiana
It was a long time ago–perhaps the late 1960’s or early 1970’s. It was the wrong time, the wrong place and the wrong evening to be holding a pair of tickets to a Steppenwolf concert. I attended college in the deep south in the mid-1960’s. In itself, there’s nothing strange about that. The problem was…
-
Dad
On this day, January 24, my father was born. I don’t know the day of the week or the time of day. All I know for sure is that it was 100 years ago. My guess is that it was a home birth. My grandfather, Michael, would likely have been pacing the floor of their…
-
Losing King–Losing Thea
The email from my daughter, Erin, came on the evening of January 16. It’s title was short and full of foreboding: “Thea’s gone.” A few hours earlier she had written that she and her husband had taken Thea to the “doggie hospice”. Now this. She described how her big black lab mix, Thea, had to…
-
Coal For Christmas: A Holiday Story For You
My father grew up poor. Not the kind of poor where he would walk through ten inches of snow barefoot or go from house to house asking for bread. Just the kind of poor that would keep his father one step ahead of the rent collector. His parents provided the best they could, but, by…
-
A Random Meeting On The Famous Steps
I’m in New York City on or about December 6, 2013. We happen to be staying at the Hotel Pennsylvania, located on Seventh Ave. just across from Madison Square Garden. Our hotel is booked solid, so we must move to another place in order to extend our stay for two more days. We go out…
-
Travels 21: You Can Still Get Some Kicks On Route 66
We’re tucked away at an RV park in Albuquerque. I can feel the shadow of Jesse Pickham and Walter White all around me. I stopped at the check-in desk and asked where I could get a local newspaper. She gave me directions. I’ll bet you get a lot of questions about “Breaking Bad” from the…
-
Pacific Northwest Interlude: A Song. A Journey. A Metaphore and a Memory
Sitting at the kitchen table, I can see my daughter, Erin and her husband watching a mute TV while a song is playing on an iTunes mix. Bob is a musician. He plays the drums and he has an encyclopedic knowledge of most kinds of music I could ever run across in my lifetime. I…
-
The Man in the Steel Armor: A Monologue
Some would think that it would be a boring existence to stand for decades in a plexiglass box wearing a suit of steel armor. Let me assure you that it is far from the truth. I find it fascinating to watch the gawkers, the curious, the historians, the lovers and the caretakers as they stroll…
-
The Whistle-Stop Girl of Montana
The gentle swaying of the coach of the train was lulling me to sleep. I had spent the night at Union Station in Chicago waiting for the early morning departure of the Great Northern, bound for Seattle. It was a long lay-over and I was tired. After watching the western suburbs of the Windy City…
-
Epitaphs: Part III
What Think You? Well, here’s another epitaph for you to ponder. This particular one is very special to me. It is located in Evergreen Cemetery, Owego, NY. This is the town where I grew up. The cemetery was designed (like many in the 19th century) to be a place to wander, reflect or just admire…
patrickjegan 